When Quinn arrives, the body of soldiery that has reaped the chaos she has sown hasn't yet return, no doubt busy claiming the spoils of war before their superiors could stop them from such a behavior.

It's not that the camp is empty, of course. There are always people there, the high command and their guards alongside a small number of medical professionals, mundane and magical both.

It was them that she seeks out the instant she sets foot inside the battlement, and it doesn't take them long to move into action the moment they see who's the patient in need of their help.

As they work, Quinn communicates to them what she has done for her and to herself; and what Quinn has attempted to do for her in return. The words flow through her methodically and careful with a small polite smile adorning her face.

A small polite smile that slowly grew dark with each word she speaks, following the expressions of the medical professionals that turn even gloomier than her.

At the end of her explanation and their examination, they lay the Matriarch—Ana down into one of the empty beds and assures Quinn they will try their best, but nothing else.

They promise it to her with such a concerned and sympathetic looks on their face, it almost makes Quinn think that they mistake her worry for an even greater feeling that she's certain she no longer wants to hold for anything but herself.

However, as they go away; she can't follow. Her foot is rooted firmly in place, forcing her to get a chair and sit down besides the Matri—Ana's bed. She doesn't quite know why she did it. After all, she can't bed the woman now. Doing so with the target of your assassination will complicate the situation, and leaves behind a genetic material easily traceable back to the perpetrator.

So, why am I here? Because I love her? She scoffs at the question, refusing to entertain it. She knew of love, she has experienced them twice.

The first was familial, and she betrayed them.

The second was romantic, and they betrayed her.

And she won't just be a clown if she falls for it the third time, but an entire gaggle of fools, a circus of them. Imagining herself in the jester costume brings a derisive smile to her face, lighting it up until she catches sight of Ana's condition.

Her wounds have been appropriately dressed and covered, and they have administered all the tinctures, potions, and spells they assume could help her recover. But still, they're not optimistic she will recuperate.

Neither does Quinn.

The entire walk here has granted her enough period to think, and she believes that whatever it was that Ana has done, can be boiled down to her giving her life and heart to Quinn, an acquaintance she has only known for a bit more than a month.

Someone who hides her dagger in the shadow, the butcher sent to kill her; now in her debt forever. Again, she sighs. Her brain working overtime trying to find a solution to a problem caused by her own recklessness.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

She does a lot of things by instincts when she's near the woman, and she paid the terrible price for it. If only she didn't worry about Ana's wellbeing during her assassination attempt, then she will succeed at the cost of Ana being possibly injured.

Obvious to her then and now, of course, that that's exactly why she's going off script during the fight. She doesn't want Ana to get hurt, she despises the idea.

She hates it so much that when her brain focuses on it, she finds the strength to move again, standing up in a sudden realization. A solution to both her distaste at the woman's helplessness and her debt to said woman.

I simply need to cure her, she thinks, her smile's light and confident.

With that in her mind, she dashes off. "I will be back in three days!" Promising her return to the medics and guards that only give her a quizzical look.

Quinn grants them no answer, she likes to keep this one a secret, because she knew how rare and prized the herb she seeks.

It was a plant that withers at the touch of the first snow, but survives until then. They grew sparingly and camouflage themselves as a simple blade of grass, unassuming until you step onto it.

Which is why she's being careful with her footwork, watching every action she makes to ensure she doesn't accidentally get cursed with death and suffering again after a woman dear and near to her heart just sacrifice herself for that exact reason.

Considering how cautious she was being, it was pure luck that she spotted them the morning of the second day away from the now moving body of soldiery, deprived of proper sleep, bath, and food.

"Hello!" she greets her finding, the unassuming patch of grass. When there's no reply. "I know you're in there!" She tries again, with their mother's tongue this time.

And finally. "What?! Oh. It's you. What do you want?" A little fairy flies out from the blade of grass to address her with a face sour and uninterested.

Undeterred and used to it. "Why, Mr. Fae!" Quinn answers come easily. "Your home!"

"Why would I give you my home!?"

To that question, Quinn beams a winning smile of a merchant as she pulls out a small bottle stoppered shut. Inside the bottle, something shines bright and warm, like the morning sun.

"For I shall give you a second chance for a rainy day, bottled up and ready to go."

She presents the bottle and its content to the fairy that looks at it with disbelief in his eyes. Quinn understands why, of course. A second chance is a very rare thing to trade away, and to get it only for the price of your home is a robbery to whoever it's that makes the offer.

So, after a brief amount of time. "Fine!" The fairy agrees. "Take the home! Just give me that!" And attempt to snatch the bottle away from Quinn.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Quinn evades him and wags her finger. "The home first, Mr. Fairy!"

The fairy grumbles but obliges. Quinn releases the bottle then, allowing the fairy to go wherever he wants with it. She doesn't care; she already has her prize.

With haste, she finds her way back to the soldiers. The rare times she's glad that armies always leave behind them the excrement of their beast of burden and rotten food and herbs.

Because if not for them, she wouldn't be able to come back on the third day and presents the herb to the camp's only apothecary, who knew exactly what he's supposed to do with it once Quinn tells him the name.

Working together with him, they made a remedy that can cure almost anything but certain death; both hoping that wasn't Ana's fate.

When they're done, Quinn gave him a quick thanks before she rushes back to Ana's side, finding her worse than the last time she left her.

Praying to the deities she has no love for, Quinn puts the pill to Ana's mouth and forces her to swallow it, more than willing to bear the consequences of that action later, when Ana woke up.

But for now, there's nothing else she can do but wait.

So, she waits.

Beside Ana's bed she sits, her hand—the real one—close to but not touching the woman's hand. The thought of her mission, of what she's supposed to do after this, filled with her mind.

Under her breath, she repeatedly whispers to herself: "It's okay, she'll be okay. It's okay, she'll be okay." Her hand creeping ever so slowly nearer to Ana's hand each time.

Until finally, the moment it made contact.

Ana woke up.